Fourth July Tears
by incendiopuff
Summary: What will happen when the world conference meeting falls on the 4th July, and it's held in America? USUK and implied Franada.


England slowly drifted into consciousness, and he opened his eyes although they felt like sandpaper from lack of sleep. He was curled up and his duvet was a mess, caused by him twisting and turning all night. Sweat covered him, making his pyjamas sticky; however he shivered from his nightmare, trembling uncontrollably. He groaned into his pillow, already feeling the aching hole in his chest coming into effect, like it did this time every year.

You see, it was the 4th of July, otherwise known as Independence Day in America, and it never failed to arrive without countless sleepless nights and the aching loneliness that England always carried with him intensified. England squeezed his eyes shut tightly, allowing himself a moment of weakness. What was worse was that the annual World Conference meeting fell on this day, and by another chance, it was being held in Washington DC. England honestly didn't know how he was going to cope.

Still shaking slightly, he dragged himself out of bed, straightening the covers and he stumbled into the shower still half asleep, hoping the warm water would revive him. Once he had showered and got dressed into his suit, he glanced at the mirror. He was dressed in one of his many crisp suits and he had managed to tame his hair into a somewhat smart style. However, he was much paler than usual and had huge bags under his eyes. His eyes, which were usually a vibrant green, looked dull and hopeless today. To be honest, he just looked generally worn out.

Every year so far England had managed to avoid America around this time, and he was worried about seeing him today, certain that his presence would only widen the hole in his heart. He tried to arrange his features into his usual scowl, rather than the pained expression his was sporting and hoped he would be able to keep it up for long enough.

Usually he spent this day waking up late and curled in a chair, failing to do any work except maybe cleaning his house to keep his mind off things. Invariably, by the afternoon he would be at the pub, drunk out of his mind. This would carry on long into the afternoon until the frog took pity on him and came to pick him up. England still remembered the time when France had brought him home and thought it would be funny to sleep in his bed too and this lead to England believing the worst when he woke up in the morning. Since then France had been banned from actually entering England's house and this meant that he ended up sleeping on the floor most of the time, unable to get himself to bed and too drunk to care.

He hoped that by the time they got to the meeting he would look better, although the only person that would probably notice if he didn't was Japan or maybe France if he was being perceptive. However, he didn't need any sort of pity, and he decided that he would try and act like it was any other normal day for him. He opened his briefcase and took out some papers that he needed to finish before the meeting, deciding to skip breakfast to get them done.

Keeping to his promise to himself, England was going to treat this meeting like any other one, which meant he was one of the first people there. In fact, the only other person there was Germany, and he was busy sorting out a PowerPoint, only stopping to greet England and give him a cursory glance before going back to work.

England sat down at the other end of the long table, figuring that America would probably bag a chair at the head of the table, wanting to be the centre of attention as always. This was even more likely seeing as it was his birthday.

England opened his briefcase again and took out the papers in there. He sorted them into order of importance and made notes of which important points to bring up during the meeting. He was halfway through colour coding his notes about taxation in Britain when Japan sat down next to him. He looked up and realised that while he had been busy doing work, other countries had been arriving. Germany was currently telling Italy that _no he couldn't eat pasta in the meeting, _Romano was beating Spain up and France was hitting on Canada. England sighed.

"Hullo Kiku, it looks like today is going to be a typical meeting." He stifled a small yawn.

Japan drew back his chair and sat down next to England, studying him intently. "You look tired Arthur-san." He paused for a moment and when there was no reply he continued. "Are you sure you are alright?"

England diligently carried on sorting out his notes. "I assure you, I'm perfectly fine thank you."

Japan could tell that England didn't want to talk about it so he didn't push, knowing that this would only make England close up further. Instead he steered the conversation to safer grounds. "What topics are you going to talk about in the meeting Arthur-san?"

"Well, I'll attempt to talk about taxation policies, global warming and relations between England and France-" He paused to send France, who was now groping Canada, a disgusted look, "-but we won't get anything done because no doubt we'll be rudely interrupted by fireworks or the like."

England spoke matter-of-factly but Japan could see the barely disguised pain in his eyes. He gave him a pitying look. He went over to the hot drinks machine and fetched him a cup of tea in the hope that it might lighten his mood a little. England gratefully accepted the cup, appreciative at Japan's efforts to cheer him up. He sipped it as he stared out of the window, having finished coding his notes.

Tap, tap, tap. Rain began to splatter against the window, leaving streaks down the dirty glass. England imagined the rain splattering on soft ground, the sound of heavy boots splashing through the mud, gunshots and shouting. A quiet voice, one that hurt him more than any scream of a dying man. "You used to be… so big." His eyes started to glisten and he blinked the tears away angrily.

Japan watched him from the corner of his eye as he pretended to read some manga. He couldn't help feeling sorry for England and he wanted to do something to help his friend but he knew that England would rather be left alone. Well, there was only one person that could ever cheer England up, although he wouldn't admit it, and that was America. However, Japan feared that America's presence today would only make things worse. He sighed and read his manga.

5 minutes later the rest of the countries had now joined them with the exception of America. Germany stood up and started presenting his speech about European relations, looking pointedly at France (who wasn't paying attention) and England.

England couldn't help feeling slightly annoyed seeing as he was forced to edit his speech because one of his main points had been taken. However, his thoughts were more preoccupied with America's absence than the meeting. He didn't usually allow his attention to wander but he couldn't help worrying. Was America curled up at home crying like he would have been? Was he wrapped up in his duvet covers drinking hot chocolate like he would when he was little? Was the rain bringing back painful memories for him too?

England turned to Japan. "Err, Kiku, you don't happen to know where America is do you?" Japan started to answer him but France interrupted.

"Mon cher, our dear Alfred is obviously at home preparing for his party! Don't worry though, he will join us later…"

"Awww Alfred's parties are awesome! Though not as awesome as me! Kesesese…"

"Although I never seem to be invited, he usually orders some vodka from me."

"Arthur-san, are you alright?"

England's mind was whirring with anger. So much so that he didn't even notice Germany throwing Prussia out, fuming from his meeting being disrupted _yet again_! Of course that wanker was planning his party; he probably enjoyed celebrating England's defeat every year! His fists clenched and his face went red. He knew he shouldn't react in this way with so many observers but the meeting had descended into chaos and only Japan was watching him. He took deep breaths to calm himself down.

Suddenly the door was slammed open. "Hey guys! I'm here! Sorry I'm late but the party's gonna be epic, you're all comin' right! And can someone tell me why Gilbert's unconscious?"

Great, just as he was regaining his composure, _America_ had to arrive. America flopped down into the seat next to England and slung an arm around his shoulders, once again failing to read the atmosphere. "Iggy, my man! How're you doing? I haven't seen you in ages dude!"

England had immediately tensed up when America sat down next to him and now he roughly pushed his arm away. "Don't. Call. Me. Iggy! You bastard America!" He stormed out, red faced and angry.

All eyes were on America now and the whole room was in silence. "What did I do?"

"Amérique, how can you really be so oblivious? Don't you know what today means for Angleterre?"

"Oh…" The Revolution, when America got his independence, of course. Surely England wasn't still upset about that? Not after all these years?

France was staring at America patronisingly. America stood up. "I'll go find him!" Without further ado, he ran out of the room, much to the joy of Germany who thought he might be able to continue without any further interruptions.

England stood over a basin in the bathroom with his shoulders hunched, biting his bottom lip. He didn't make a sound but the mirror in front of him plainly showed the tear streaks down his cheeks. He whimpered in despair. That bloody bastard! He broke his heart every year! How could he act like this? Didn't he miss him at all? He gripped the basin and sobbed. Tears spilled from his eyes and soaked into his shirt. His shoulders shook as the sobs were ripped from his chest. This rejection from America hurt him more than any other.

This was how America found him a few minutes later. He instantly wrapped his arms around his old caretaker and England buried his head in his chest, his tears sliding down America's bomber jacket. England held onto him as if he was a life line, although he knew that being this close to America would only hurt him more later on. After a long while his sobs subsided and he pushed America away, keeping his head down to avoid America's concerned gaze. He sniffled and got a tissue with trembling fingers.

America stood there helplessly. "E-England…?"

"Yes, America?" England wiped his eyes and blew his nose, still facing away. America tried again.

"Artie?" England stiffened at America's old nickname for him.

"My name is Arthur, not Artie!"

America stepped forward and insistently pulled England into his arms again from behind. "Artie, please tell me what's wrong."

"I-It's just a trivial matter… America. Nothing to worry about." He stepped away from America again.

America roughly turned England around and lifted his chin so he was forced to meet his eyes. All he saw in his emerald eyes was indescribable pain and sadness. America's voice was gentle and a little scared. "Well it sure doesn't look like nothing to me."

England looked into America's beautiful blue eyes and could only find concern and deep loyalty and this cut him to the core. How could America care about him now? It wasn't fair! America stared in shock as England's eyes turned from sad to accusing. "A-Arthur?"

"Don't you ever miss me?" The question took America off guard and he took a step back from England, who was beginning to get angry.

"Don't you ever look back and think about me at all? Because I think about you _every year_! Every _bloody_ year!" His eyes started to glisten again and he pushed past America to leave before he broke down again.

"Arthur, I'm so sorry! I didn't know!"

"Happy Birthday America." The door slammed shut.

America returned to the meeting room in a sort of trance. He sat down in England's vacated chair and stared at the table. His mind was working so fast that he could barely focus on one thought. However, one voice cut through his internal babble.

"He'll be at the pub."

France was looking at him intently, and he failed to adorn his words with 'mon cher' or other fancy French phrases, meaning he was deadly serious. He wasn't even groping Canada. France sighed, obvious thinking America was being slow, and he explained further. "Every fourth of July, our dear Angleterre goes down to the pub. He gets so drunk he can't even remember who he is. My reputation has been ruined by association…" France was stroking his chin thoughtfully.

Oh Arthur… I'm so sorry… I didn't realise it still affected you. God, I feel like crap. "Thanks dude." America was out the door faster than you could say 'Iggy'.

Now, if America knew England, which he did, then England wouldn't be at any old pub, it would be an old place with lots of atmosphere. America smiled; he knew just where to go.

England was just slamming his empty beer glass down on the counter for a refill when America entered the pub. He was soaking wet from being out in the rain for so long; the first few pubs he'd tried were completely England free, so he'd been walking around for ages. He looked around frantically for a mop of blonde hair as he listened for England's distinctive accent. Sure enough he heard him over the chattering of the other customers.

"… bloody wanker if you ask me… the French bastard…"

America sniggered and made his way over to the bar, where England was slumped, nursing a pint of beer. The barman just muttered a 'yeah' and 'mmhmm' every now and then, obviously not listening to a word England was saying. England took another swig of his beer and sighed. His head was beginning to get fuzzy now. America sat next to him but England didn't even notice until a hand was placed on his shoulder.

"Hey Artie."

America's voice was gentle and it made England look up. His breath caught in his throat, Raindrops were dripping steadily down the strands of America's dirty blonde hair and onto his shoulders and the light catching off the drops complimented the sparkle in his eyes. To England he seemed to have an otherworldly beauty about him. Or maybe he had just drunk too much.

"Leave me alone Ameri-Alfred." England turned back to his glass, shooting a glance at the barman who hadn't noticed anything, England wasn't quite drunk enough to forget to use America's human name in public, although he hated doing this because he feared getting too close to America. He liked to keep things impersonal between them.

Over the years America had matured enough to make his own decisions and England had begun to appreciate him as an equal. Also, the love he held for him before the Revolution slowly grew into something more, but England refused to admit this to himself.

"No way, dude! Not after I've searched 5 pubs for you already!" America moved his hand down to England's forearm and pulled him firmly off the bar stool. "You've had enough to drink now. I don't want you waking up in the morning and complaining about a headache by the way." He started to pull England towards the door.

"Let go of me at once you git! Where are you taking me?" Heads started turning as England shouted and he tried to pry himself out of America's iron grip. America shot a winning smile at the other customers.

"Sorry guys! Just gotta get my friend home! C'mon Artie."

"Don't. Call. Me. Artie! How many bloody times do I have to tell you? And _home_ is across the sodding _Atlantic_ you imbecile!"

"I'm taking you back to my place, duh." America shoved him into the back of a cab he had just hailed and threw some money at the driver.

"Your place? _Your place?_ Why in the name of God would I want to go there! So I can attend your sodding party!" England attempted to get out of the cab but America pulled him away from the door and into his arms.

"Nu-uh! You're not goin' anywhere Artie! The party doesn't start 'till later and I've gotta look after you!"

England struggled out of America's arms, blushing slightly but of course America didn't notice this. He moved over to the other seat and stared out of the window, huffing. The cab was moving now and an escape attempt would be stupid so he settled for crossing his arms and glaring at America every now and then.

America lay back and watched him with amused eyes.

The cab driver wondered why he always got the idiots.

Eventually, he pulled up outside America's house.

England was the first out of the car and he stomped up the path to the front door, trying to ignore the various decorations and American flags that adorned the lawn and outside of the house. America opened the front door and let him inside, pushing him onto the sofa and sitting beside him. "Now, what the hell was that about earlier?"

England stared into space stubbornly. "What was what about?"

America sighed. "The whole crying into my jacket thing! Saying that I never thought about you!"

England stayed silent.

"Please Arthur…" America's voice was sincere and England felt himself getting annoyed.

"You obviously don't care about me! You aren't affected by this day at all, are you? I thought… I thought maybe…" He looked away, suddenly ashamed.

"You thought I would be upset."

England didn't reply.

"I'm not. I've never regretted my decision. I wanted independence and that's what I got and I've never wanted to go back to being your brother. But that doesn't mean I don't miss you, or that I don't love you." He shuffled closer to England on the sofa. "There was another reason too. Sorry Artie but you were a complete jerk back then and I wanted you to see me as an equal-"

"SHUT UP! You don't love me! You never have!"

America grabbed England's hands. "No! Listen! I do love you but this is different, okay?"

England paused. This was definitely not what he was expecting. Slowly America pressed his lips to England's in a chaste kiss.

If England hadn't been drunk, he would have pushed America away and left, probably yelling at him before going. However, he found himself returning the kiss and wrapping his arms around his neck, pulling him closer.

America's eyes widened in surprised but he deepened the kiss, easily dominating it. England felt desire coursing through his body. He never thought that America would feel the same way about him but now he knew he wanted to take full advantage of the situation. He pulled away from the kiss and started to nibble on America's bottom lip. He kissed a path over his jaw and down his neck, pausing at a spot near his pulse and starting to suck there.

America shivered. "A-Artie…" The desire was evident in his eyes and he pushed England back roughly so he was leaning over him. He claimed England's lips again and started to undo the buttons on his shirt with trembling fingers. Then he gave England another soft kiss on his lips before trailing them down to his collarbone and kissing him there.

England's breath was becoming erratic and he was shivering in anticipation. He gasped loudly when he felt America's tongue teasing a sensitive spot on his chest. "Bloody hell…" America chuckled and sucked on it slowly. England moaned. "G-God Alfred…"

America moved back to his lips and whispered against them, "Shall we go somewhere more comfortable?" He kissed England and scooped him up into his arms bridal style, carrying him to his bedroom. Not breaking the kiss, he lay him down on the bed, hovering above him. Eventually he pulled away and gazed into England's eyes for a moment. His emerald eyes were begging him for more and a light blush adorned his cheeks.

"This would never be happening if you were sober." America grinned mischievously.

"I don't bloody care. Get on with it!"

America chuckled at England's demand, hearing the undertone of desperation in his voice. "Aye, aye, Captain." America swiftly pulled off England's trousers, revealing his Jolly Roger boxers and the obvious bulge underneath. America completely ignored this and started to kiss England's neck.

"A-Alfred stop bloody teas-ah!" America had slid off England's boxers and taken him in, running his tongue along the sensitive skin in an infuriating pattern. England whimpered and automatically tried to buck his hips but he was stopped by America's hands holding him down. Instead he fisted his hands in his hair, trying to push his head down. America started a low hum in the back of his throat, purely to tease England further and hear more delicious moans.

Sure enough, England moaned at the humming and he pushed America's head down again. Electric shivers travelled through his body like agonising sparks, and warmth pooled in the pit of his stomach. "A-Alfred, I'm going to-!" His body tensed up and he climaxed. America swallowed and moved away so he could remove his own clothes. He loved the look on England's face; his cheeks were flushed and his eyes were hungry. England hastily tore America's shirt off while America slipped off his trousers and boxers, which had become uncomfortably tight.

He immediately pinned England to the bed and attacked his lips, nipping and licking them maddeningly. He stroked the inside of England's thigh, spreading his legs gently. The rest of what happened afterwards was a haze to England's drunken mind. He remembered the pain mixed with pleasure as he adjusted and then the screams of America's name and long deep moans as they satiated their needs.

When they finally pulled away from each other, he almost passed out, only there long enough to press a kiss to America's lips and say the words he hadn't uttered in so long. "I love you Alfred." These words had a different meaning now and warmth spread through him when he realised that they were together once again. In the safety of America's arms he drifted into unconsciousness.


End file.
